Content Feed

Literary conference. Man grabs agent by the sleeve. 'My book — it's about loneliness, the human condition, three generations of women in postwar France!' Agent: 'Sounds compelling. Send me the first three chapters.' Man: 'There are no chapters yet. But the FEELING is all here.' Taps chest. Agent: 'So... you haven't written it.' Man: 'Writing is a formality. The SOUL is ready.' Agent: 'Sir, this is the fourth year you've pitched me the same soul.' Man: 'Fifth. And the women are now in postwar Spain.' Agent: 'What changed?' Man: 'Flights to Paris got expensive.'

Publishing contract arrived. Finally. Hired lawyer to review it. Expensive but worth it. Lawyer read page one. Frowned. Lawyer read page seven. Went pale. Lawyer read page twelve. Put down the document. Lawyer is now a sheep farmer in New Zealand. Sent lovely postcard. Says he's happier. Didn't mention the contract. I signed it anyway.

A debut author finally lands a meeting with a prestigious literary agent. The agent places an hourglass on the desk and says, 'You have three minutes to pitch your novel.' The author begins: 'It's a multi-generational saga spanning—' The agent flips the hourglass upside down. 'Two minutes.' The author speeds up: 'There's a family curse and—' Another flip. 'One minute.' Panicking, the author blurts: 'Dragons!' The agent smiles, shakes his hand: 'Congratulations, you've just described the entire fantasy genre. I'll take it.'